Denouement
by lilabut
Summary: Edith watches her family grow, split and fall apart. AU for season 3


**Denouement**

_The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone._

**Harriet Beecher Stowe**

**I **

Awkward silence replaced the usual dinner conversation, the only sound in the room the clinging of silverware and ringing of glasses being placed back cautiously on the table.

The stolen glances, the words swallowed back but so eager to be spoken, polite nods and smiles - everyone's expectations were coming true. Certainly, no one had dared to speak them aloud. Nevertheless, no one had believed this dinner would pass in a different manner.

As Edith looked up from the salmon on her plate, she could just catch a fleeting glance of intimacy from across the table that made her feel both terribly sad and uncomfortable at the same time. A part of her longed for it, another recoiled, while a small fraction of her knew she should be happy as she watched her younger sister gently nudge her husband's side, a loving smile ghosting across her lips, inconspicuously pointing at the correct fork.

Feeling as if it was something she had no right to notice, Edith quickly focused her glance back on her dinner, wondering if it was worth breaking the thick silence, if her papa would be distracted enough to ease the obvious tension, if Granny could be stopped from asking the questions that so obviously lingered on the very tip of her tongue.

"Mary, have you spoken to Mr Travis about moving the ceremony earlier?" her mother's gentle voice, but so obviously just as tense as her father's body, and desperate to rescue the dinner, broke the silence. It made way for a conversation that reminded no one of the former chauffeur eating his pudding with the wrong spoon, or the youngest daughter pushing her hand against her lower back to ease the ache the weight of the unborn child inside of her caused.

**II**

It was the gentle touch of his hand on her sister's back, a slow, almost fleeting brush of his thumb against the lace of her dress, that caused Edith to smile and make peace with the situation as it was.

Certainly, it was not the ideal path for her younger sister, but the echo of Mary's vows to Matthew still in mind, rainy memories of a much smaller wedding across the stormy see, and the content smile on Sybil's face made it all as clear as the sunlight giving birth to a crisp morning in spring.

**III**

Edith never really found out what the argument was about that would, in hindsight, throw her father into an abyss of guilt so deep he never quite managed to smile again until the day he passed away almost two decades later.

All she knew was that two days after Mary's wedding, on her way down the stairs to breakfast, she saw her younger sister wrapped tightly in her husband's arms, head buried in his chest, body convulsing with tears.

The almost desperate kiss that they shared would burn itself into Edith's mind as a memory so cruel, she could never think of a kiss quite the same as before.

There were some hushed words, lost in the echo of the grand entrance hall, a brief kiss on her cheek, his hands brushing over Sybil's belly, before Edith realized what she was witnessing. It was goodbye.

"Sybil, what happened?" she asked carefully as she approached her younger sister, whose arms embraced the unborn child inside of her. Edith could only just see her brother-in-law step through the front door, his suitcase in hand, before Carson shut the door quietly behind him.

"He sent him away."

There was no need for names. Edith very well remembered their father's face as the two of them had arrived, the provoking silence, the judging glances. It had been a mere matter of time.

"Maybe I could-" Edith began, the thought of Sybil being left behind a burden too heavy to bear, but her sister interrupted her before she could really make plans on how to erase what had undoubtedly happened between her father and brother-in-law.

"He sent him away and I can't go with him."

"But why?"

"Doctor Clarkson thinks it's not good for the baby to travel back now. Tom insists I stay until the baby is born and not take any risks. But he has to go back to work, or we'll go back to Dublin with a baby and nowhere to live."

"Surely you cannot be due to have the baby soon?"

"Not too soon, no. But it has not been going too well so far, and Doctor Clarkson thinks another long journey would be too much stress on the baby."

Finally, Sybil turned her head, eyes tinted red with the exhaustion of tears shed in vain.

Edith found no words to say, the separation apparently inevitable, if only temporary. Nevertheless, she knew how different the circumstances should have been, how much their father's genuine acceptance would have meant to Sybil.

No one saw Sybil for the rest of the day after she disappeared into her old room, door shut for the rest of the world, no words uttered, no rage, no sorrow, only indifference to the life in the place she once called her home.

That night, after her mother had rushed out of the Drawing Room in tears, her father had slammed the door behind him, and even Granny had had nothing to say, Edith walked back to her room accompanied by Anna, quiet and both deep in thought about how wrong everything seemed to go in the wake of Mary and Matthew's happiness.

The loud voices from her parents' bedroom barely affected her in this moment as she passed Sybil's door, trying to think of words to say to her, when nothing would help.

**IV**

"Anna?"

Taking a few quick steps down the corridor, Edith just caught Anna before she disappeared behind the door leading to the servant's staircase.

"Milady?"

"I was wondering," Edith began, fingers toying cautiously with her delicate, golden necklace, "I was wondering if you could ask Sybil if... I know she does not wish to speak to anybody, and I respect that. But there is something I really want her to know. So, if you could just ask her if she... I would like to tell her in person."

Sadness took over Anna's compassionate and always so controlled features.

"I can certainly try, Milady. But I'm afraid Lady Mary and her Ladyship have both tried to speak with her and she declined. To be honest, Lady Sybil is barely talking to me, either. I'm afraid there is not much I can do."

Edith nodded slowly, having expected this.

"I would be very grateful if you could try, nonetheless," she said with a friendly nod, watching Anna disappear behind the door.

**V**

Rushing down the gravel path towards the garage, Edith felt her entire body shaking. Not with grief - she had barely known her brother-in-law, and not well enough to mourn him as such. Still, she has to admit he had been a good man, and so much more honorable and decent than her father ever wanted to admit. He had made her sister happy, happier than she had ever been.

No, in this moment, skirt bunched in her fists as she rushed through the heat of the day, it was about her sister. Edith was shaking with an undefined anger, that her sister was now heart broken because of the man that had made her his wife, that had given her a child, given her joy and happiness, only to get shot and leave her behind.

It was not fair to blame him - from what the doomed telegram had said, it had not even been his fault. Unprovoked, accidental, collateral. Still, Edith could not seem to understand why her baby sister was to be a widow, when she herself was not even someone's wife yet.

The telegram had arrived early in the morning, leaving everyone in a state of shock and unspoken guilt.

Everyone had assumed that Sybil was in her room, after their mother had gone upstairs with tears in her eyes to inform her youngest daughter of her husband's death. It was not until Mills, the new chauffeur, rushed to Carson around noon, telling him that Sybil had quite literally thrown him out of the garage.

Edith found no words to say as she stepped into the garage, only to see her sister sitting in the driver's seat of the old Renault, staring straight ahead into nothingness as her fingertips glided along the steering wheel in slow circles.

The only thing she could do was to come back a few hours later, as the sun started to set behind the big house, carrying a soft blanket and a basket filled with sandwiches and Sybil's favorite cake, a jar of biscuits and grapes. Placing it all quietly by the door, she knew Sybil would probably not touch any of it, but it felt as if at least it was a little thing to do.

The next morning, they found Sybil sitting in the servant's hall, the content of the basket spread out neatly across the table.

**VI**

Their mother still held on to Sybil's lifeless hand, delicate fingers holding on to her youngest child as if the mere touch could coax her back into this world.

It was not until Mary, cold and collected Mary, fell onto her knees by her sister's bedside and broke out into cries of sorrow so piercing and agonizing, that Edith, holding her tiny, restless niece in her arms, fully understood what had just happened in front of her eyes.

No one had bothered to clean the blood, and, in more ways than one, Edith felt as if all of them, every single one of them, had their hands covered in Sybil's blood. Both of their blood. Three of them, really.

The little girl in Edith's arms - Saoirse, as Sybil had whispered, holding her daughter in her arms, the last breath of life fanning over her lips - was stirring, and she suddenly felt so utterly helpless.

When Anna tried to take the baby out of her arms, Edith held on tightly, cradling her baby sister's first and only child to her chest as if it were her own.

"Milady, we should-"

"Please," was all Edith murmured, "let me."

**VII**

The night passed without any sleep, the next day blurred past in a rush of sorrow, pain and tears, and before anyone knew, _Sybil Branson_ was engraved in a heavy stone, flowers set upon the earth in front of it.

The big house was quiet, everyone haunting the corridors as if each step itself were enough to wake a sleeping beast, some unidentified horror buried deep within the thick walls.

Life went on as it always had, but at the same time, it did not. No one dared to speak too loudly, to walk too quickly, to care too much, to breathe too deeply.

From time to time, Edith thought of all the countless houses much alike Downton, that were now left empty and lifeless after the war had torn apart so many families. The cloud of grief and guilt that overshadowed everything else reminded her of those ghost houses.

She carried her niece outside, because it was summer and Sybil had enjoyed nothing more than chasing around the gardens in the sunlight. The tiny human being in her arms, all pale skin and blue eyes and dark curls, gazed curiously around in the shade of the big tree, taking in the world around her, a world that had claimed her parents so much too soon.

When Mary sat down on the blanket next to them, reaching out to run her finger gently along Saoirse's soft cheek, Edith started to believe there were not many right things in the world, at all.

**IX**

"You mean you want to give her away?"

"That is in no way what I am trying to say, Mary."

"Then what exactly _do_ you mean by saying she shouldn't be here?" Mary asked with the familiar venom in her voice, a spite that was just now returning as the snow fell onto the grounds outside.

Saoirse was sitting on the floor between them, Edith gently holding her upright as her tiny, chubby hands pulled on the white hat that covered the wild, dark curls.

Early childhood memories of Sybil fighting against whatever frock she was put into only strengthened Edith's determination.

"What I mean to say is, that she does not belong here. Think about Sybil. Do you remember that night went after her?"

Mary nodded vaguely, and Edith can almost see her own crystal-clear memories of that night mirrored in her sister's eyes. The plain corridor of the Swan Inn, the agonizing longing as Sybil kissed the man she loved, the dwelling tears in Branson's eyes as they took her away from him once more.

"You remember how eager she was to get away? Do you remember how she could not bear to look at us or the house when we brought her back? Have you ever seen her smile as much as she did when we visited her in Dublin? She never belonged here, Mary, and she would not want her daughter to grow up here, either."

Mary's eyes fell onto the child in between them, and Edith understood. Neither of them wanted to let go of her, of the baby they had raised as their own for the last months, of the only thing that remained of their sister.

"I suppose you might be right," Mary whispered, bitterness flowing with each word.

"It is the only thing we can do that Sybil would have wanted. One might think that raising her like our own would be in her best interest, but you know what that means."

Mary looked up, eyes filled with sorrow.

"We could only tie her to the very life Sybil wanted to break free from. She would not have wanted that for her daughter."

**X**

As Saoirse grinned contently, playing with the hem of her grandmother's dress, Edith tried not to notice Mary's tense, gloved fist digging into her leg.

Mrs Branson, as cautious but hospitable as they remembered her from their single visit for Sybil's wedding, tried very little to hide the tears that filled her tired eyes as she kissed her granddaughter's forehead.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, unspoken gratefulness and understanding reflecting in both pairs, and Edith smiled as she caught a glimpse of Sybil and Tom's smiling faces on their wedding picture on the mantelpiece behind his mother. Carefree and in love, Sybil's head leaning gently against his shoulder, fingers intertwined.

She knew in that moment that, without a doubt, they had made the right choice.

**XI**

Edith's forehead wrinkled in confusion as she tried to keep up with Mary, who was chasing down the unfamiliar street without a word of where they were headed.

It was only when she saw the rusty gates that she realized what Mary was doing. She did not object, mere followed her sister's determined steps. For a second she wondered how Mary knew the way, but she decided quickly not to wonder about it too much, to leave Mary her part to play in this.

When they stopped in front of a simple white, wooden cross, silence fell upon them.

"We should have brought some flowers," Edith whispered after a while, eying the colorless grave.

"He never seemed like someone who gave much about flowers, did he?" Mary answered, a chuckle sneaking its way into the bitter sound of her voice, "And we brought his daughter. Isn't that what counts?"

"I suppose," Edith sighed, not sure if there was really anything she wanted to say.

"Do you think it was our fault?"

"What?"

"What happened."

Edith looked up at Mary's pale face, framed by the brown hat that seemed to suck the last bit of a blush out of her skin.

"Do you mean was it our fault that they died? It was not, but..." her own voice faded into silence, a familiar rush of guilt running through every fiber of her being.

"Exactly," Mary murmured bitterly. For once in their lives they understood each other like only sisters could.

Standing together in front of Tom Branson's grave, they silently demanded atonement for words they should have said and words they now wished had never passed their lips, for deeds they should have done and those they wish could be redeemed.

"Do you think we will ever see Saoirse again?"

It was one of the many moments that Edith wondered what part of Mary had died along with Sybil, and what part had been born.

"I hope we will. One day."

Mary turned towards Edith slowly, giving her only sister a bittersweet smile.

"So do I."


End file.
